


The things we haven't done yet

by Sorah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Did I Mention Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorah/pseuds/Sorah
Summary: After the armageddon't, Crowley wants to take Aziraphale to do thing they hadn't yet done, so they can experience everything the humans have to offer, just in case God wants to try to destroy everything again. Aziraphale is thinking about a whole lot of new things. Crowley just wants to do everything with Aziraphale and make the idiotic angel realize all the things he simply has never said. Fluff. Lot's of fluff.





	The things we haven't done yet

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [As coisas que nunca fizemos](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399573) by [Sorah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorah/pseuds/Sorah). 



The apocalypse had ended. Or hadn’t started. Or it had started and it hadn’t ended, but now everything had ended and what started didn’t finish but it was past now. Anyway, Crowley had decided that he wanted to experience the human world more than he had ever done in his six thousands years of eternity, because what if another apocalypse comes? All the thing with the ineffable plan had come from Aziraphale’s head, so maybe God was actually very pissed that the apocalypse was canceled. It was weird to think that God’s plan could be frustrated, but in any case, Crowley wouldn’t want to think too much about it, since he would end up imagining whether his fall from heaven was just part of God’s plan from the beginning, and that would’ve made him very, very pissed. But if the all mighty wanted the apocalypse, He could try again at any moment.

Aziraphale had seen a lot more from the human world, specially because he hadn’t spent an entire century sleeping, but also because he loved the little human particularities, while Crowley was more attracted to the tragic comedies.

Tragic comedies, Crowley would say, were those perfectly avoidable tragedies in which humans put themselves without any help from demons, like wars and illnesses caused by putting a lot of people together and spread that having bad hygiene is the best thing to do and if you want to heal that heachache why not drain some blood from your arms?

“But nearly all human tragedies are like that” Aziraphale would’ve pointed out.

“Yep”, Crowley would agree, with a maniac and self indulgent smile on his face, without elaborating the matter any further.

And because he had seen a lot more from the world (being the only angel to learn how to dance, for example), it was Aziraphale who started suggesting places where they should go to have unique experiences.

And it was Crowley who rejected them all to get really drunk in Venice during Carnival.

“How many times have you done this?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley smiled, wearing a traditional mask, which covered his yellow yes like the sunglasses.

“A few”

It’s not that Aziraphale was complaining. He liked all that. He was in character. He was wearing clothes from the 18th century (it appeared around him in a miracle), which, for the century it was created, was very cool and would be wore by the richest noble during the parties. In the 21th century, all those feathers and golden glitters and specially the big glimmering hat had just made him look even gayer than usual. He really liked Carnival. The wine was lovely, the music, the people, the love all around him (typical of Venice), the party was amazing. But he was really expecting that Crowley would hear him about going to Japan to try the best sushi in the world for the first time. It wasn’t an unique experience if…

“You did great with Carnival” said Crowley, interrupting his thoughts.

Crowley was dancing as if he was stepping in sacred ground, which was very common in Venice and in Italy as a whole. But that wasn’t the case, he just couldn’t dance very well when drunk - or sober. They were in the main city square, surrounded by tourists wearing masks, and everyone was watching the parade happening in the canal nearby. The old Carnival looked a bit different from this, of course. There were people dressed as Batman this year.

“I thought it was a demonic job” admitted Aziraphale.

Crowley drank the whole bottle of wine in his hand, which had been emptied and miraculously refilled twice already.

“Humans, then?”

"I do not know," the angel pondered, looking around.

"Well, it was not your humans who created it”

"Oh, no, there were Egyptians and Greeks celebrating-"

“Bacchanals!” cried Crowley, drunkenly, still tapping his feet uncoordinated. "I remember the Greek Bacchanals. Or were they Romans? And then there were the guys in the middle ages who ... pffff - he grimaced and shook his head negatively - Honestly, they broke the concept.”

"In the Middle Ages I was not in Europe for long," he admitted.

Crowley decided that the angel was too sober and reminded him of the wine that was still half full in his hand. The angel drank instinctively.

"Lucky for you," Crowley said. "They were so mean back then that I thought I’d lose my job”.

“Oh, the stench! The Muslims were much more hygienic. And healthy."

"And they didn’t have the plague.”

"That was you," Aziraphale accused.

  
  


Crowley had thought for some time that it had been someone from hell who had brought the plague, but when he received a condecoration for it, he discovered that it wasn’t.

"Tragic comedies of men," he replied, opening his arms and turning on his heels.

Aziraphale smiled, amused at the fun that Crowley found in that dance.

"Well, the bacchanals were you," he said.

"Of course," Crowley said, turning again.

"So you influenced the carnival in one way or another."

“Nah. We just suggested, but what came after …”

“Were you in Brazil?”

Crowley’s expression could be read as a mix of one who has many stories to tell and who would rather not talk about it.

"I've been to Brazil," Aziraphale said cheerfully, and then began an attempt to dance samba.

"That's not the way I remember Brazil. By the way, I'd rather not to remember.”

Aziraphale interrupted the Latin dance steps to give him a smile that could be interpreted as a reprimand, but one full of pride - as if a mother could be happy that her son had been a brat. Which made sense, since for a demon, being naughty was having a job well done. It stops making sense when you remember that Aziraphale is an angel who shouldn’t like these naughtiness. But he liked them. Or not. In some points he did. But overall, the answer would be a big maybe. He would need to think about it.

The angel's bottle of wine, by the way, remained half full. From the perspective of the idea of the glass half-full and half-empty, for Crowley, a half-full bottle meant the missed opportunity to leave it entirely empty. And an angel who was not very interested in ending it.

So, through a small demonic miracle, from the narrow streets of Venice, a group of gavotte dancers came out, arms entwined, pulling a stream of people in costume. It's hard to pin down what was going on in the minds of those people who suddenly decided to bring back the long-outdated dance style. They would say they saw a group dancing and found it funny, so they joined along. And it was sort of what really happened. Humans are much less individualistic than they realize. They usually work in herds.

Crowley stared at the angel's soft expression as he watched the carnival group resurrect the gavotte. There was a smile, and then Aziraphale turned to the demon and gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder.

"Why, you-"

“Go dance, angel.”

Aziraphale handed him the bottle of wine and ran to the cordon of people who danced a much longer, drunk and weird gavotte. Meanwhile, Crowley just watched him, laughing

Later, the two changed their costumes for normal clothes, and Crowley arranged a table in an extremely crowded restaurant - with reservations made months ago - so they could eat near the Bridge of Sighs.

"Terrible the name," said Aziraphale, shaking his fork, "bridge of sighs.”

"I like it," Crowley admitted. Another human tragicomedy.

"People pass beneath it thinking the sighs are of love," Aziraphale said. He had not yet tasted the black truffle risotto.

"It is now, isn’t it? Let it be.”

"They were prisoners who were to be killed," Aziraphale protested, pouting.

"Well, the people passing by it are now sighing with love. So points for you.”

Aziraphale lowered his hands, leaving the fork on the table and the food untouched. He looked down, slightly uneasy.

“I do not know if we should talk more about "my side" or "your side". We left both sides very angry with us.

It made the demon laugh at it all remembering. He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned back proudly. That kind of pride was a peculiar feeling. Because, you see, angels and demons do not have "free will". It's a job. Like being a cop or doctor, but full time, 24 hours a day, with a boss famous for disproportionate punishment. There is no way out of work, there is no way to take a day off. Except that Crowley and Aziraphale resigned in the most sensational way possible, and although they still wore their work clothes, they were uncertain about their positions inside (or outside) the company. Anyway, their bosses were not going to bother them for a while. For Crowley, that meant freedom. For Aziraphale - who would certainly have been honored employee of the month in this metaphor - it meant loss of purpose on some level.

“We made them so fucking pissed at us, didn’t we? They’re probably biting their fists in anger right now”.

Aziraphale broke his worried expression to giggle involuntarily.

"Anyway, it's not my side or your side anymore”.

"Well, it's them and us now”.

"Our side," Aziraphale murmured, taking the fork in his hand again, almost savoring the words to try to assimilate them, “and their side.”

"It doesn’t sound bad.”

"Sounds terrible," Aziraphale complained. “Still.”

“No, it does not!”

"We are enemies, they are enemies, we can not gather everything on one side."

"Well, keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.”

Aziraphale was caught by the weird logic and had no answer. Then, his expression became light and smiling again and he finally tasted the risotto.

“My God!”

"Hey, do not call your people here. Their people. They. Whoever they are.”

The angel put his hand on his chest, savoring the food with his eyes closed and making sounds that Crowley considered strange. And he was a demon. He had been in hell. His measure of comparison was high.

“Crowley, this is…”

He did not finish the description of the taste of the risotto. Instead, he took another portion and brought it to his mouth.

"I'll have to come back here a few times. Taste it, you need to taste.”

“Oh no. The eating thing…” " he grimaced.

Normally, Aziraphale was always too busy eating something extremely specific to realize that Crowley was always drinking. Or having ice cream. Which was, technically, a solid liquid. But depending on the point of view, almost everything is a potential liquid. Anyway, normally, it was just the angel who ate.

"But it's divine!"

"You lost me there."

“Forgive me. It is ... hellish?”

"Nope, still lost."

"Well, actually, it's just human, is it not? Only humans eat.”

Crowley shrugged.

“And you.”

Aziraphale ate for a very simple reason. In the tenth century, at the beginning of the Crusades, the angel was far from Europe in the Middle East. It seemed a very reasonable way to get away from the smelly Europeans. He did not count with the Crusades.

During the wars, when the Crusaders tried to reach Jerusalem, Aziraphale caused a small miracle by making five thousand horsemen to enter into direct conflict with the Arab warriors and absolutely no one died. At the time, a rumor was spreading that the end of the world was near, and these "small" acts were ways of trying to prevent it from happening through the war.

Crowley would find this story absurd if he heard it. After all, being an angel, Aziraphale should be better informed about the end of the world. He should have known it would not happen in the tenth century. But he also knew that the angel had an innocence and a slight - just mild - paranoia.

In any case, there was a scolding from the sky. Aziraphale was accused of doing too many miracles. A cure here, a cure there. A rainfall in the desert in unscheduled times could not hurt anyone. Maybe a little snow too. See, those people would die without ever seeing snow! And the ten thousand men whose spears and swords were a little too weak to penetrate bodies were only very lucky, he would swear.

By such miracles, Aziraphale was forbidden to perform miracles for two hundred years. And surviving in the tenth century without miracles was ... well, a miracle by itself. He could no longer be a wanderer, nor find suitable clothes for each place he was, or slightly alter the tone of his own skin to merge. He had to make a real effort.

It was there that Aziraphale, reluctantly, began to eat. He did not feel hungry, but he needed to blend in. And he discovered that food was a very good thing indeed. Once he tried a particularly good cheese, he wanted to taste everything. Eating was great. Just as buying his own clothes gave him a special pleasure in owning them and hearing the music of humans was much better than the miraculous angelic songs. After the punishment was over, the angel continued crossing oceans to eat something specific, and even risking losing his head to eat a French crepe.

"It was your idea to try new things, wasn’t it?" asked Aziraphale. "You should eat, dear.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose.

“No thank you.”

"By the way, we're not experiencing anything new, are we? We've already been here.”

"Not together."

"But we were.

"Well, we were not together.”

"It does not count as a new experience, Crowley.”

“Of course it does.”

"Your idea is to repeat everything you've done, but this time together, until the next apocalypse?"

"Of course not." Crowley defended himself, which hid the fact that it was exactly what he had planned.

Aziraphale raised her eyebrows and moved the chair to sit next to the demon. He drew his plate closer, lifted a forkful of the risotto, and thrust it towards Crowley's mouth.

"Really, this is ridiculous, angel.

"Open," he demanded.

“Stop this.”

“Ooooopen your mouth.”

At this point, other wealthy tourists were already eyeing the couple with some suspicion. Mainly because Crowley had not taken off his sunglasses when he entered and was now mouthing an “airplane” of expensive risotto from his flamboyant husband.

The demon cursed with food in his mouth, grimacing, and reached out a hand to rinse his mouth with the wine while the angel was watching victorious.

At some point the grimace vanished, and Crowley turned his face to Aziraphale.

"Humans did that?"

“Yes.”

“Cancel heaven. They’re useless.”

"Ah, humans do things far more interesting than heaven or hell. They really do live, you know? The first food I ate was not that good. Some dry bread, some strange cheeses. It took centuries until I could eat a decent crepe. But here’s the catch. They'll make things better because they need to eat, right? So they want to eat well. Imagine if the angels had to cook. It would be the same tasteless food because if you do not need it, is easier to do the simplest food and we’d never improve it...

Crowley was not paying attention to any of the rambling. The angel's voice was just background noise. He was more focused on ordering a plate of that risotto for him. And four more dishes from the menu, which was open in front of him.

"Duck," Crowley interrupted, oblivious to Aziraphale's explanation of how spices made europeans very violent. “Is duck good?”

"You’ll never know until you try it."

“You're right.”

The table was filled with six different items on the menu. The owner of the restaurant offered them a loyalty card and laughed at the value of the bill.

Leaving the restaurant, the sun was already set in Venice. They crossed the bridge of sighs - which could be renamed as “the bridge of the tourists taking pictures in funny poses and buying fake Murano glass for the price of real Murano glass - and kept walking up to the Rialto bridge. From there they saw the last gondoliers carrying couples by the canal. Aziraphale smiled whenever he was here. It was an involuntary reaction to the feeling of love emanating from those people.

"Is this another cool thing that humans do?" Crowley asked.

"No, the gondola is just a way to make money," Aziraphale said.

"Not the gondola," Crowley complained, almost irritably, which sounded like his normal tone, "I mean ..." He pointed to the gondola.

“The gondola?”

“The couple!” he explained, finally really angry.

Aziraphale turned his body almost entirely to the demon, grinning at him like a younger sibling who caught the older one breaking the television in the living room after taking the blame alone for bursting a windowpane.

“Crowley, Crowley. Now, if it’s not a filthy being from hell, questioning himself about the most pure of the feelings. It seems like you're not that bad.”

Crowley grimaced and turned away. When he did, the gondola shook, the couple in it lost their balance, and gondolier and newlyweds plunged into the canal. The woman could not swim, but she would not die of drowning, since the little demonic anti-miracle included that none of them would get hurt.

Aziraphale materialized a safevest and followed Crowley with a laugh when he, with a closed face, walked away.

"There's no need to be angry," Aziraphale said, still smiling, trying to follow the demon's steps. “It is a natural doubt.”

"Well, it's dumb to question an angel about it, is it not?" he said with firm, hurried steps.

"No, of course not, angels perceive love, we-"

Crowley stopped and spun around, causing Aziraphale to hit him in the face.

"It's not something you've ever tried.”

"What are you talking about? We are almost fluent in the language of love.”

"Not this love. Not this bullshit of love in the air. No ... "He gestured, moving his hands in disjointed fashion, since the demon did not know exactly how love worked or how to describe it to try to be more specific “that love. Of the couple. You would not know how to answer my question. Or to say that loving someone, that way, like the couple, is something that humans do because it’s cool like eating.. Because you do not know.”

"You're talking about romantic love.”

“Yes!”

Aziraphale rubbed his hands in front of his chest.

“Why?”

Crowley again grimaced and turned his back on him to continue walking, irritated, and this time even faster, making it difficult for Aziraphale to follow.

"Crowleeey," the angel whimpered, plunging into the sea of tourists to reach the demon. - “You’re going too fast!”

"You had six thousand years to get used to it.”

"Well, you did too.”

And yet, they were in different rhythms.

Crowley stopped in the middle of the tourists. Aziraphale finally reached him.

"I understand that love," said the angel, adjusting his clothes after the light run. “It is an individual love. It is intrinsic to free will. It does not make sense to angels and demons, because angels and demons will not go around building lives. Angels and demons have work to do. Angels have to love everything. All things. And demons only feel hatred.

"We can stop talking about love now.

“And this city, in particular, is always flooded with love, and always this love…”

"No," Crowley interrupted, putting a finger over his mouth. “Enough of love.

"You brought it up."

"And I already regret that bitterly.

Crowley again started to walk, although this time keeping the pace slower, next to Aziraphale.

“It might be good for you to learn a little about lov ..”.

"Sex," Crowley interrupted, preventing the angel from repeating the word again and at the same time trying to embarrass him. “It's something only humans do, isn’t it?”

"Well, I did it once.”

Crowley stopped. By this time, they were already in the outer city of Venice, where ordinary citizens lived, far from the tourist hell. There, the city looked less like a Renaissance painting cluttered with Iphones and more with a boring urban center like all the others.

“You?”

“Why the shock?”

Crowley stared at the angel as if trying to imagine how could be possible that this man, the incarnation of purity, silliness, softness and cuteness might be corrupted.

“Nah.”

"Why not?"

"Nah," he repeated, even more incredulously.

"Well, if I eat, why can not I-"

“Do not finish the sentence.”

"Well, you should know that coitus is an act created by God and profaned by humans.”

“And the demons.”

“Whatever. But it is still such a perfectly natural act, just like eating.”

"There's nothing natural about calling it coitus."

"You asked if romantic love was something that humans do because it's cool, like eating, and no, it's not. Romantic love happens unintentionally. Sex is the part they do because it's cool.”

“And is it? Cool?”

"Not much," Aziraphale admitted. "You’ve never ... ? hey, do not walk away!”

Crowley rolled his eyes and forced himself to stay where he was.

"I suppose it's a cool thing to do when there's love," Aziraphale mused, "don’t you think?"

“I don’t think anything. Let's go home.”

“What home? The bookstore is gone,” he pouted.

"For the twentieth time, you can stay at my place."

“Oh, great. Do you still have those plants?”

“Stay away from the plants.”

The sounds of Venice were very different from the sounds of London. Which was very fair, since the number of tourists wandering in Venice would be absolutely unjustifiable in London. What was heard through the window was the traditional noise of maintenance in the tube, horns, people swearing on the traffic, and some new slangs. Crowley had created a lot of slangs. Several of them were meant to be confusing and just a tiny little bit insulting and had no meaning, nor served any purpose, but irritate the elders.

Crowley's apartment was still the same minimalist flat in shades of gray. All those straight and colorless lines made Aziraphale slightly annoyed, spinning around himself to find any surface that gave him any comfort. Finally, he sat down on the edge of the incredibly square and uncomfortable sofa.

“Hey, angel. Come here.”

He did not complain about getting up. It was better to stand up anyway.

He followed Crowley through the apartment until he entered a large room in pleasant shades of wooden colors. It was not real wood, but the shelves had a glow and complexity that appealed to the angelic senses. And on the shelves, thousands of books.

"Since when do you have all these books?"

"I thought I'd need a distraction for you if you were to stay here. You know, so you’d not bother me. Just to keep you busy.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were open wide and he was dancing from one book to the next, reading the covers, seeing all the wonders he could read now.

"You have Aristarchus of Samos?"

Crowley shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.

"Alexandria was our job, so ... there's one thing or another from there. Is it important?”

“It's the first work saying that the Earth revolves around the Sun, before Copernicus!”

“Hm ... did you like it?”

“It's magnificent! Fantastic!”

Crowley smiled while the angel was not looking. He just stood there watching Aziraphale rushing from one shelf to the other, completely ignoring that he could soak up all that knowledge with a miracle, preferring only to read as a human would, because that was how he was. After some good 10 minutes, Crowley decided that the angel was absorbed enough to not to pay attention to his own response.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hm?”

"You do not work for The Dude© anymore.”

“Hm.”

"You do not have a job."

“Hmm.”

“Technically, you could stop loving everything and everyone and ... I don’t know, love a thing or a person or an  _ entity. _ ”

“Hm?”

"Maybe it's something you might want to try for the first time... the apocalypse might still come."

“Hm.”

Crowley watched the distracted angel for a few more seconds and left the room, closing the door.

The bad part of not needing to sleep was that it took two full days for Aziraphale to leave Crowley's little library. Before that, there was absolutely nothing in his head except the contents of the books. When he had already made an alphabetical list of everything there, and arranged the bookshelves by date, content and edition, Aziraphale finally smiled at the finished work and the readings that would still come when his brain popped causing the demon's plants to tremble .

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, two days late.

Crowley was not there. Of course.

Crowley was eating five different burgers in the kitchen, tasting all the different flavors he could.

"You're wrong," Crowley said, holding a sandwich with three burgers and guacamole as the angel carefully approached. “I think demons also feel …”

“Love?”

Crowley writhed.

“Yes, that.”

Aziraphale approached cautiously.

“Because...?”

“I don’t know why. Just because. This is all very complicated. Bad idea. Love," he said, as if words burned his mouth, or as if they were worms on his tongue.

"You are acting strange, Crowley.”

"I am, am I not?" He threw the sandwich over his shoulder and wiped his hands on the table sheet. “It's ridiculous. “Being around the humans is making me weird.”

"You're talking about romantic love.”

"I am not, you are," he replied quickly.

Aziraphale circled the kitchen table, approached Crowley, tiptoed, and stretched out to kiss him on the side of his face.

"What was that, what did you do, what?"

"The apocalypse might come at any moment. And maybe I want to experience more of this world.”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Like love”

“It could be, yeah.”

"But you have to say it.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Waiting.”

“I won’t!”

“OK.”

“What?”

The angel shrugged and moved to leave. He was immediately stopped.

“I love you.”

Crowley coughed, squirmed, frowned at his own words. A demon saying that was really a strange thing.

"Oh, Crowley," the angel laughed and pulled him closer. "I always said deep down you're a good ..."

“Don’t.”

Absolutely nothing has changed. It was a slight shock to Crowley, because it had been centuries trying to understand the good feeling in him, and more centuries getting used to it. For the next few centuries he’d been thinking of how to make it clear to the angel that,  _ hey if you want it, I want it too _ , only to then realize that everything was already done. They were already a couple, but now they had included an extremely difficult and embarrassing confession from Crowley, which was actually not necessary. At least now there were no discussions about being in different rhythms or about not liking each other or about being enemies. Only discussions about remodeling Crowley's house and treating plants better. Before the new apocalypse arrived, they took advantage of the most sublime of human pleasures. Including…

“So… you said sex is like eating…”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
